Wasteland: Going Solo

Leaving Diamond City left me with pangs of regret – I reached down to scratch my dog between the ears before remembering he wasn’t by my side any longer. I don’t know how long he would take to heal, but I had to believe that we would be together again soon, hopefully in a more peaceful and less dangerous part of the wasteland. I owed him that much.

Before the war I was surrounded by people; neighbors, friends, family, two goldfish. Since waking up my only companion had been the dog, a true and trusty friend the likes of which I never expected to find in this hellish world. He kept watch while I slept, alerted me to danger, and even occasionally found stashes hidden by those who had come before. In return I made sure he had warm places to sleep, stayed well-fed, and didn’t find himself in some heartless raider’s stew pot. We worked well together, and while I’m sure I wasn’t the first wanderer he had partnered up with, our time together enriched both of us.

Even after donning some power armour I took from a nearby raider camp, I still felt naked and alone in the world. Just knowing there were a second pair of eyes watching my back made existence in the bleak wilderness tolerable, sometimes even comfortable. Without him, survival was purely up to my own wits. Sure my rations would last longer without him, but that was such an insignificant benefit compared to the drawbacks of going at it alone.

Soon enough I would have the caps to cover his treatment, I told myself, and the doctor would be able to heal him up from the Deathclaw attack. I’d have made a name for myself so nobody would come messing with us, and we’d set up a small homestead a stone’s throw away from a trading route. I would build him a dog house with my own hands.